Lords of the Yangtze
by Katharra
Summary: It was all in Sam's head. It was just too bad that he didn't know that. Blatant Sam-Angst.


It was all in his head.

It was too bad that Sam didn't know that.

He remembered being jumped. Just stopping at a rundown gas station tucked on the side of a deserted highway late at night to gas up; nothing special in that. Sam had gone in to pay and to grab some snacks and water for the road. He exited the store with his head down (in retrospect, he realized that may have been his first mistake) but in all fairness, he had been trying to juggle the bag of goodies with one hand while pocketing his change with the other and pushing the door open with his hip and, well, his focus was already tied up with too many things at once. But when he stepped out of the gas station, he saw it. Or rather, he saw _them._

Demons. Demons swarming the Impala. Dean inside the driver's seat, struggling against a couple of arms that were snaking their way through the shattered window and tugging on his leather collar. Dean grabbing for his nine millimetre while trying to shrug out of his jacket at the same time. And even from this angle and from this distance, Sam could see the rigid determination in Dean's eyes.

Sam screamed his name anyway. In retrospect, that was probably his second mistake. Because the few that weren't trying to sneak into the car's back window looked up and noticed him for the first time. Hollow, black eyes stared at him, and mouths formed into smug grins.

Sam dropped the bag and both hands went for the gun tucked into the belt on the back of his jeans. He fired again and again, until he emptied his entire chamber and scrambled to reload. He managed to squeeze off another few rounds before he felt something at his side. He had enough time to realize that he had been distracted and careless in neglecting to cover his own hide. In retrospect, that was definitely his third mistake.

Was it a fist, a pipe or a bat, Sam never knew. What he did know was that it _hurt_, enough to bring tears to his eyes, and he probably would have been embarrassed of that last fact if the pavement hadn't rushed up to meet him so quickly.

* * *

He woke up chained to a wall in a room that resembled a steel box with his arms and legs spread-eagle and held firmly into place with thick chains. The chains wrapped around his chest and neck, tight enough to keep his head upright but not tight enough to choke him to death. He would wish for the latter later on.

He smelled the demons before he saw them. The pungent scent of sulphur filled his nostrils and that's what woke him up. He snorted, grimacing from both the stench and the throbbing pain in his skull. When he finally lifted hooded eyes to take in his surroundings, he wasn't surprised to see grinning faces of demons all around him. And he wasn't fearful of them until they parted and Lucifer stepped through their numbers.

His current vessel was deteriorating before his very eyes. Skin was blistered to the bone and the eyes were sunken into the thinning face of what looked like a walking corpse. But despite all that, Lucifer smiled at Sam genuinely.

"It's good to see you, Sam."

"Get away from me," Sam said. He had meant it to come out as a menacing growl, but instead it sounded weak and timid coming from a voice that cracked unwillingly.

Lucifer shook his head slowly, still smiling. "I've got you right where I want you. I just need you to say yes."

Sam tried to shake his head but the firm chains prevented even the slightest movement. "Not gonna happen," he said resolutely.

One eyebrow lifted on Lucifer's face. "No?" He took another step in towards Sam, and lifted a hand to touch his face gently. Sam did his best to shrink back into the wall. "I have my ways," he purred.

He turned back to his followers and they grinned maliciously, already anticipating what he was about to ask.

"Bring him in."

Sam didn't try to hide his horror when a bloodied and staggering Dean was led into the room by two demons on either side of him.

* * *

They flayed him alive. When Sam squeezed his eyes against it, they taped his eyes open. While Dean screamed bloody murder, he made eye contact with Sam and silently begged him to give in. Sam cried, choked on his own sobs, begged them to stop and sometimes they would. It was just enough time for Lucifer to ask him again and for Sam to refuse.

When Dean had been reduced to a bloody heap of muscle and bone, they brought Bobby in, then Castiel, then Adam. And then he brought his father and mother and Jess back to life, just to torture them and see them die again. He even filleted a puppy or two.

And through it all, Sam cried and screamed and begged and threatened and prayed but he never gave in.

And Lucifer's frustration and growing ire was terrible. He brought in children, babies, pregnant women, bewildered and terrified, clutching their bulging bellies protectively.

And still Sam would not give in.

* * *

Dean saved him.

Dean saved him so many times he lost count. Every time was like the last; Dean would burst in and Sam would call for him. Dean would blow every demon away with the shotgun poised at his hip. He would use the Colt on Lucifer, buying him just enough time to free Sam from his bonds. But Lucifer always rose and always caught Dean, and as Sam lay in a useless heap on the floor, Lucifer and would start ripping Dean's limbs from his body. And while Dean was being slowly ripped apart, he would coax Sam into giving in. He promised Sam that he would forgive him, promised him absolution if only Sam would stop the _tearing_.

Sam cried into the dust on the floor, and still did not give in.

* * *

When Dean was mad, he was lethal. Castiel both admired and was a little unsettled by this trait. A few tortured demons had led them to this abandoned warehouse. They had scouted the warehouse for a day; surveying the surroundings and keeping tab of all the demons that came and went. There weren't that many, which was surprising to Dean given that they had his brother in there and he was supposed to be their meal ticket.

Dean was crouched on the damp ground on a slight hill overlooking the warehouse. He looked across to where Castiel similarly lay, examining the rundown white building with a scrutinizing eye. Dean lifted an eyebrow questioningly.

Castiel shook his head. "Lucifer is not in there," he answered in his low, quiet voice.

Dean turned around to lay on his back while he loaded his shotgun. He pumped it and threw a glance at Castiel that was a mixture of anger and eagerness. "Lets do this."

* * *

Dean's aim never missed. He strode towards the warehouse purposefully, confidently, feeling like a righteous terminator paving a path of destruction and using demons as asphalt. Castiel was right beside him, burning demons right out of their human skulls with a single palm.

Dean burst through the door and was mildly surprised that there were no demons on the other side. The inside of the warehouse was dark, musty and empty, except for the lone figure slumped over in the middle of it, hands handcuffed behind him to a steel pole that stretched all the way to the roof.

"Sammy," Dean breathed.

He skidded towards his brother's unmoving form while Castiel kept his watchful eyes on the entrance to the warehouse.

Sam did not raise his head, which was resting on his bent knees. Dean crouched in front of him and tapped his cheek. "Hey, Sammy," he prompted softly. Still, Sam did not move.

Dean grasped his brother's chin in one hand and lifted it. Sam's eyes were half-open with an empty gaze. Dean weaved his face before Sam's eyes, trying to catch his attention. "Sammy look at me," Dean commanded.

Still, those eyes continued to stare blankly ahead.

"Dean," Castiel said lowly.

Dean looked up. Castiel was staring intently at the door. "They're coming. We must leave now."

Something twitched in Dean's jaw. He removed his hand, letting Sam's head fall back to his knees. He walked to the back of the pipe and with a single shot from his gun, broke the chain of Sam's handcuffs. Sam's hands limply fell to the dirt floor, then his entire body followed as he slumped over to his side in a dead heap. Dean tried to rouse him again, tapping his cheek softly and calling his name.

"Dean," Castiel said urgently.

"I know!" Dean growled.

Castiel glanced down at the two Winchesters, then back up at the door quickly. "No time," he murmured before kneeling down to touch both Dean and Sam on the shoulders. Bright light enveloped the three, taking them out of existence before demons stormed the warehouse with a combination of knives and bats wielded high above their heads.

* * *

They landed in Bobby's living room. Bobby wheeled in, staring agape at the angel who always looked somewhat surprised himself, and the older Winchester cradling the younger in his lap. Bobby swore under his breath.

Dean looked up. "Get some hot water and cloths," Bobby.

Bobby took another look at Sam's blank gaze before nodding and heading for the kitchen. Dean motioned at Castiel to help him get Sam on the cot.

Dean surmised that maybe Sam felt something; safety, comfort, Dean's own presence perhaps, because soon after being deposited into the cot, Sam closed his eyes and slept.

* * *

It was another 18 hours before Sam opened his eyes. Dean's concerned stare was the first thing he saw and the first thing he heard was Dean's tentative call of "Sammy?"

Sam blinked and looked away from Dean's hovering head. "You're not real," he whispered. Then he closed his eyes and slept again.

* * *

It was another 3 hours before Sam opened his eyes for the second time. This time he was met with darkness and silence. Well, almost silence. Someone was snoring. Sam blinked, strained to see as far as he could without moving his body. When that didn't work, he haltingly turned his head, wincing at the tightness in his neck. Dean was asleep in an armchair, hands folded across his belly with his head thrown back and his mouth wide open as he snored peacefully away.

Sam tried to get up without waking Dean. But every muscle in his body was stiff and he ended up emitting a low grunt unwillingly as he slowly and painfully made his way into a sitting position. The grunt was enough to jolt Dean out of his reverie. Dean snorted, blinked, looked around dazedly (it was difficult to remember where you were when you were consistently on the move) and finally spotted Sam. He was instantly out of his seat and beside Sam with a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, hey. What are you doing?" He asked softly.

Sam huffed out his frustration and rolled his eyes. "I have to go to the bathroom."

Dean's lips twitched in a slight smile. He grasped Sam by the bicep. "Let me help you up."

Sam was too tired to argue and let Dean haul him up and then lead him down the hall to the washroom. He left Sam to do his business, but stayed close to the door.

Sam ran the tap water, washed his hands and splashed water on his face. He did his best to avoid looking in the mirror. He rubbed a weary hand over his face and sighed before opening the door to his anxious brother.

"Still here, huh?"

The question caught Dean by surprised. He shrugged and shook his head. "Where do you think I should be?"

Sam shook his head and studied his toes. "This is sure longer than the others."

Dean's head cocked to the side in bafflement. "What's longer?" He studied his brother carefully. "You okay, Sam?"

Sam exhaled deeply. He looked up at Dean and Dean was momentarily taken aback by the utter defeat in his eyes. "Can we just get this over with?"

Dean grasped Sam by both arms. "Sammy, what's going on? What do you think is gonna happen here?"

Sam looked like he was about to cry but instead he focused on the floor again and shirked away from Dean's grip. "Whatever. If you're in no hurry, then I'm gonna go back to sleep."

Dean watched his brother shuffle away and stood by himself in the darkened hallway, unsure of what his next move should be. He didn't go back to sleep. Instead, when he heard the creak of the cot's springs as Sam lay down, he joined his brother back in the living room and stared at Sam's slumbering form for the rest of the night.

* * *

The rich scent of coffee woke Sam up. He blinked against the bright sunlight streaming in through the window, listened to the sound of three voices talking quietly in the kitchen and the movement of chairs against the linoleum and the opening and closing of the refrigerator.

Slowly, he made his way up from the bed and into the kitchen, standing in the doorway uncertainly. The conversation came to a screeching halt as three pairs of eyes suddenly descended on Sam.

Bobby sat at the kitchen table with Dean, while Castiel hovered closely by at the kitchen sink. They stared at Sam with a mixture of concern and fear.

"Mornin' son," Bobby greeted warmly. "Coffee?"

Sam looked as though he had forgotten the word. Finally, he nodded wordlessly and took a seat at the table, as far as he could from the others.

Dean poured him a cup of black coffee and handed the mug over to Sam. Sam sniffed the cup experimentally before taking a shy sip. He seemed surprised by the taste.

Dean's eyebrows lifted. "It alright?"

Sam took another sip before responding. "It's good. Nice job."

Dean grinned smugly. "It's all in the percolating."

Sam's laugh was more of a sarcastic bark. He shook his head. "I bet it is," he said ruefully.

Dean and Bobby exchanged meaningful glances. "Everything alright with you, son?" Bobby asked carefully.

Sam gulped down his coffee before looking up sadly at Bobby. "Everything's okay, Bobby."

Then he pushed his mug away, got up from the table and left the kitchen.

"He's not well," Castiel commented when Sam was out of earshot.

Dean watched his brother's retreating form. "Tell me about it."

* * *

Sam was like a living ghost around them. Whenever they entered a room, he skirted out of it. Dean was beginning to think of it as a really un-funny version of hide and seek. At dusk, Dean finally cornered him on the front porch. Sam was watching the sunset absently.

Dean glanced at Sam while standing slightly apart from him with his hands jammed into his jean pockets. "Quite the sight, huh?"

Sam didn't agree or disagree, he just stood immobile, transfixed on the ball of flame descending in the sky. "The sky is red because of the forest fires," he said softly.

Dean frowned. "Forest fires?"

Sam did not look at his brother. "I heard it. On the news. There are forest fires out west. The smoke in the air is what makes the sky red during sunset. It's the light reflecting off of the smoke."

Dean gave Sam a mischievous smirk. "Kind of thought you'd grown out of taking advice from a grizzly bear in a ranger's hat, Sam."

Sam gave Dean a quick, unreadable glance. Dean's smile faded. He kicked at the chipped blue paint on the deck boards, searched his brain for the right words, then suddenly slapped his hands against his thighs in frustration.

"Aw for crying out loud, Sammy. What the hell is wrong with you, man? I can't do this brooding thing any longer. And believe me man, you could set a world record for brooding; but seriously, come on!"

Dean stood with his hands wide apart and hovering in the air, waiting for some sort of revelatory reply from Sam. Sam pushed himself away from the railing and tried to walk past Dean. Dean would have none of it. He grabbed Sam by the shirt collar with both hands, was somewhat irked when Sam wouldn't even bother fighting back, and then felt guilty when he saw the sad frown on Sam's face.

"What did they do to you, Sam?" He asked quietly.

Sam looked up at Dean. "They didn't do anything to me. It was you. It was always you."

Dean let go of Sam's shirt and took a step back. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Sam shrugged, jammed his hands into his jeans just as Dean had done earlier. "Why are we even talking?" He asked sullenly. Dean was slightly disconcerted that the question didn't seem poised at him. "This is such a waste of time. Just get on with it already," he murmured.

Dean cocked his head, tried to peer under Sam's hair to where his eyes were hiding. "Get on with what, exactly? Sam, what do you think is gonna happen here?"

Sam sighed, blew the hair out of his face impatiently and looked around. "I don't know. I cant remember what phase they're working on this week."

Dean's head jerked back on his neck in surprise. "This week?" He repeated. Sam had only been missing for three days before they found him.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, this week. Last week it was ripping limb from limb. The week before that was skinning."

Dean pushed his hands out in front of him in a stop motion. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down a second, Speedy Gonzalez. Who got ripped limb from limb?"

Sam stared down at his feet in reply.

Dean pointed at his own chest. "I got ripped limb from limb? Who the hell ripped me limb from limb? How is that even possible?"

Sam sighed helplessly.

Dean's eyes widened. "Sammy, none of that was real. You know that none of that was real, right?"

Sam lifted his head to watch the sunset again. "How do I know this is real?"

"Well, for one thing I have all my limbs." Dean waved his arms around for good measure.

Sam shook his head. "They kept bringing you back. You never remembered."

Dean's eyebrow lifted. "It would probably be hard to remember without a head," he added helpfully.

Sam glared at him and for a split second Dean thought he might be okay, that Sam's patented bitchface must mean that he was okay. But the scowl faded only to be replaced by that same, empty look and Dean's hopes faltered.

"I just want to get this over with. Can we just get this over with? I'm so tired."

Dean approached him cautiously, as though he were stalking towards a scared animal. He held his hands out, palms facing Sam in a gesture of goodwill. "Hey, Sammy, you need to listen to me. You need to stop thinking, you just need to..." He trailed off as he suddenly recalled that line before, in an older movie from the 80s, the one with Christian Bale before he became a douchebag. "Sam, try not to think so much," he finished softly.

Sam blinked, his eyes suddenly moist. "I never said yes. I never once said yes."

The full weight of what had transpired to Sam before Dean rescued him hit him full force in the gut. Dean felt as if all the air in his body had been punched out of him. For a second, he didn't breathe, didn't move, he just stared at Sam with wide, frightened eyes, thinking about what could have happened. A second later, he had his arms wrapped around Sam's shoulders tightly.

"I know you didn't, Sammy," he murmured into his shoulder. "I know you didn't."


End file.
